5 Strikes
by soleilthesun8994
Summary: Another one of those evil Super Junior fics only this time it features Leeteuk. Leeteuk here is a deranged killer who leaves poems stabbed into the bodies of his victims, these poems are clues to his whereabouts. OCs are the protagonists.
1. Disclaimer

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

First off, I don't own Leeteuk. Leeteuk belongs to Super Junior and Super Junior belongs to SM Entertainment. Credits go to them.

Second, this is my second novel fic. It's the second time I've written a fic about Super Junior being bad and gruesome guys. If you're not into that stuff, I suggest you click that back button on the upper left hand corner of your screen and look for something that suites your tastes. If you're the type of person who's grossed out by these kinds of stories, then I suggest you don't even dare click that 'Next Chapter' button. If you're the kind of person who gets bored easily when reading long fics, turn back as well. If you're the kind of FANgirl who's easily offended by Super Junior fics which feature their idols as villains or possessing negative traits, then turn away. MOST ESPECIALLY!!! If you're the kind of fan girl who can't distinguish fantasy from reality as I have said before this is my ultimate pet peeve when it comes to writing. People who are too affected by stories. It's just a story for crying out loud!!! Note to those kinds of fan girls: Learn how to draw the line between fantasy and reality. If you really love and know Super Junior that well you know they'd never do anything like their characters in my story. It's like saying a certain actor who played a disgusting role in a movie really enjoys doing that. Come on.

But if you're the kind of person who would like a good read and some gore to come along with it, then you've come to the right place. If you're an anti (I'm not an anti, I'm just a creative writer) and you're looking for something that smells like the defeat of Super Junior then you've come to the right place.

Third, just enjoy the story. It's here for your entertainment J


	2. Out At Night

Hush, Little Baby

I. OUT AT NIGHT

I find myself sitting on the same chair in the same place at the same bar. I'm not really looking for company or anyone to talk to right now. I just want something to drink and something to keep my mind from work and to have that, this bar's the place to go. I'm not like one of those young folks who'd dance to their death on the dance floor. I'm not one of those men who'd get drunk and then drive and wind up at home with minor injuries, a high alcohol level, a DUI mugshot, and a confiscated driver's license. And if you're asking me if I'm here for the entertainment, I'll answer you with a nasty "Are you kidding me?" which is oftentimes accompanied by a nasty smug smirk and bended crunched-over eyebrows.

Hi! I'm Florence Harlington. You may recognize me as the detective in white who hangs out nightly at the bar. Right now, I'm trying to drown myself in alcohol not for the purpose of buzzing my head but just for the purpose of trying to wash away the crap that comes with detective work which are usually stress, disgust, and nightmares of dead bodies rolling on your porch. You'd be very much likely to drown yourself in any beverage if you had a job like mine. Oh and by the way, if you happen to know what my position in the job is, I'd like it for you to say it out loud. Yeah, that's right. I'm head of the criminal ass-busting or shall I say Forensic Investigatory and Arrest Team. What we do is bust those criminal asses and make sure they get a good taste of the bad life…which is jail of course, not their lives of crime which are also bad by the way.

But this case is particularly different. Not to mention utterly disgusting. Recently, just this morning, my boss presented some data to me. I read the data over and over again until I was sure that something was misspelled…or that something's wrong. Anyways, I read the paper for like a hundred times that day and the gruesome truth was staring me right in the eyes. I know I shouldn't hold suspense for long but what exactly was written on that piece of paper? Well, according to the paper, a serial killer is on the loose. It says that he's been raping and killing women who roam around at night constantly and that he's doing gruesome stuff such as mutilating them, doing stuff with their bodies, or worse, occasionally he eats them. Talk about bias. And disgusting. The yellow piece of paper just stared at me and I stared back at it until I was sure it had eyes. Gladly, it didn't.

Who is this serial killer anyways? Beats me, I don't know who the fuck he is nor do I know the fuck he looks like. All I know is that his identity is protected by an alias known as "Peter Pan". Rumor has it that the guy is the heir to the Park wealth. Who the Parks are, I shall elaborate later. Eyewitnesses have described him to us as a smooth and easy going guy on the outside but deep down inside, he's a psychotic maniac ready to attack. What he does to his victims is something that I'm quite uncertain of. But most them say that he has the vilest laboratory or abode in this place. I've heard from the others that he mutilates and eats his victims but I'm not one to believe immediately. I'd rather investigate first. I mean, I know I've heard of sick guys but why would this so-called acclaimed heir to the Park wealth go as far as eating the flesh off his victims' bones. But you can't judge a book by its cover. Neither can you condemn a man based on his looks. But those two are just the same. The bottomline is, there is a serial killer on the loose and he is doing crazy shit to his victims…before they die! This monstrosity must be stopped before everything else goes wrong. And I know I'm the only one who can stop this.

I get up off my seat, grab my beer and chug it down one last time. I went outside the bar and leaned on a post in order to relieve my dizziness. I don't want to be driving drunk now, would I? Once the dizziness started fading away, I walked back to my car and got inside, shutting the doors tight and locking it just to make sure no creepy guy was gonna enter. I checked everything with paranoia evident in my motions. When I saw that nothing was wrong, I sped away calmly and collectively.

The highway down Garland Street. Here in Cornflower City, the streets are as crooked as the minds of the people. I know an opposite city neighboring ours which has an even higher crime rate. But his case is nuts. I can't let this slip my hands. While driving wearily down the road, I grab my cellphone from inside my pocket and dialed the number of my boss: James G. Fletcher. The most badass F.I.A.T agent that has ever walked the face of this earth.

"Hello!" answers the voice from the other line. I hasten up my explanation cause I don't want any questions.

"Hello, Mr. Fletcher. It's Agent Harlington. Listen, you got some info on that serial killer you wanted me to catch?" there was a hint of hesitation in my voice. Something tells me I don't want to do this. Not that I'm scared. Jesus, why would I be scared of a scrawny little rich boy trying to prey on girls just to make himself feel strong. Well he can't bully me around. Not in my house! Not in my city. He can go home to his country if he wants to but nobody has the right to push me around while I'm still here!

"Oh yeah. Thanks for reminding me Agent Harlington. Listen, I've got something for you to do before you go on a saving spree. "

Now stop right there.

Saving Spree? Who told you ANYTHING about a saving spree? I only took this job so I can get to a higher rank and probably covet your position. Who told you anything about a saving spree?!

"Right. Saving spree." saying it was almost hard on my throat. I don't think I still have the ability to speak.

"Alright then. Let's get down to business. You see, we haven't identified the killer yet but we are damn sure of his acquaintances, associates, and friends."

So my quirky boss is trying to tell me that this "serial killer" has friends? Wow. What a social butterfly. And I called my solitude insane!

"Wait, what? Mr. Fletcher, let's not go to the juicy details just yet. You have to tell me about the serial killer. Like what he does, how he does it, why he does it, who has felt it…things like that. Mr. Fletcher, I really need this." I begged at him with fake sympathy. "Okay Ms. Harlington. I'm giving you the details. This guy goes by the alias "Peter Pan" meaning he could either be a child predator or childish, with the latter definition being the one with a greater possibility of becoming true. Second, he is rumored to be a weirdo."

Now that made me stop and think. Hmm…Weirdo. Weirdo. Weiirdo? Weirdo is something that's rarely seen in my dictionary and rarely spoken in my vocabulary.

"I never knew your vocabulary was so colorful and interesting, Mr. Fletcher." I said awkwardly. "Weirdo. I barely even use that word. And to think I'm twenty years your junior." I could see Mr. Fletcher's wide and sarcastic grin from here. He's not happy about what I had just said. "Well that's not the point, Ms. Harlington. The point is, the serial killer is at large and he is said to have been roaming around the streets of Cornflower City. This city is a very big city so you might want to be careful. Keep your eyes peeled at all times. Stay alert and never sleep. He is most likely to attack when his victims are unaware of their surroundings." I just cringed.

"Well, Mr. Fletcher sir, isn't that what all criminals do? Attack when their victims are unaware. Plus, what makes him a…hmm…an eccentric fellow." the word weirdo nearly slipped from my mouth. Good thing I was able to catch a breather before following it up with a more formal word.

"He is rumored to stalk women in the dead of the night. Then, he taps them on the shoulder and starts getting friendly with them. Once the girl is secure in his presence, he gives her the electric shock by means of a stunt gun. The victim wakes up in his lair and is forced to submit to horrendous and atrocious torture. As soon as the victim is weak enough to collapse and die, he kills them." Mr. Fletcher stopped. Judging by the way he described this man's strategy, he doesn't seem any different from the other serial killers I've handled. Fuck it, I've seen and heard worse. Is this the weirdo that's been sweeping the nation and making all those lazy town folk hide in fear? Someone who uses a stupid stunt gun? I've seen men kill on the spot but this loser still has to use a stunt gun?! So where's the "eccentric" part here?

"But that's not all. You know the worst part?" Mr. Fletcher asked using his ghastly voice in an effort to scare me. If he could only see my face right now. And if I could only see his pathetic look right now.

"Obviously not. After all you haven't told me yet." I began to realize that I was going for a joy ride and not going home. I've been circling around town for a few hours and it's all because I got caught up in a conversation with my boss. With a hefty amount of gas still in, I decided I could circle around some more, just in case I might find that "Peter Pan" of Mr. Fletcher's.

"Once the victim is dead, he mutilates their bodies, makes clothes and accessories and ornaments out of their body parts and their skins, occasionally he eats his victims' viscera and drinks their blood. But there is something he preserves and collects." Now this really made my night. Upon hearing this horrid and disgusting statement, I nearly lost control of the wheel. I almost spiraled! The tree that was right in front of me nearly suffered a fatal crash in my hands. Woah! This guy is weird. He's not just merely eccentric, he's a goddamn motherfucking sicko for Christ's sake! I thought these kinds of people only exist in stories and gruesome novels made by novelists who were mentally disturbed as well but there really are killers like these! Now the topic became interesting! I decided to head for home and discuss the matter with my boss.

"Mr. Fletcher, don't stop talking. I'mma listen." I drove all the way to my small abode in the small suburb. Stress, confusion, disgust, and drunkenness filled my joy ride which I really couldn't call a joyride because of the nature of our topic. Being a workaholic, I asked my boss however about the killer nonetheless.

"He could be anywhere right now. For all I know he could be behind your car. Or worse, he could be at the backseat of your car!" I laughed at his joke. Mr. Fletcher always knew how to be pathetic. When it came to being corny and tasteless, he's the man.

"Very funny, Conrad." losing respect, I called the 46 year old man by his first name. Conrad. Conrad Ford Fletcher. 46 years old. Veteran Task Force agent. God knows how good he is in this thing! I reach home and once I did, I immediately stepped out of the car, locked it, and entered my house. I plopped down on the couch and began talking to Conrad again. Or Mr. Fletcher.

"Did you just call me Conrad?" asked the old man. I laughed and brushed it off, opting to hear the next statement of his.

"Just get it on with the serial killer. I don't care if your name's Conrad or what." I said in a serious tone. It's high time Mr. Fletcher stopped treating his youngest agent like…THE youngest agent in the roster. "But honestly, he could be anywhere, really." he said. Apathetically, I just went on with my questions.

"Elaborate please…" I said.

"He's from somewhere around the city, actually. I don't know what his motif is for attacking these innocent young girls but all I know is that his house is secret. His lair and everything is clandestine." I smiled a fake smile. "Give me an exact location and I'll be on to it!" Mr. Fletcher gave me some instructions and I started to work on the locations.

"When do you want me to work on this, Mr. Fletcher?" I asked quite politely, a far cry from the disrespectful tone I talked to him with earlier on.

"As soon as you can. Hurry, Ms. Harlington. This city doesn't have enough time and I'm sure that this city couldn't afford to lose its female population to a deranged killer." Mr. Fletcher sounded really exasperated and rushed, kinda gives me the feeling that he wants me to work on it now. Nonetheless, I took his word for it and lay down on my sofa where I slept the night away with my phone in my hand.


	3. Strike One, Let's Have Some Fun

Riverette Street. One of the darkest, most isolated streets in the Cornflower City neighborhood. It is on this street where you will find the dirtiest of the dirty, the baddest of the bad, and the meanest of the mean. All these bad elements thrive there and when a fair lass of 17 comes walking around Riverette Street, you know trouble's about to start.

She was walking down, the pretty laces of her dress were swaying down the ground. Her bag was on her shoulder and her books were in her hand. If you were to look at her well you would think, "What's a fair lady like her doing on Riverette Street in the middle of the night?" Well this lady just about met her demise when she sensed someone following her. Nervously aware, she whipped around and observed her surroundings. She saw nothing and resumed walking in a much more paranoid manner now, however. Then, the noises came back and it was really annoying her. She explored her surroundings and tried to locate the source of the noise. She eyed and eared every nook and cranny in that area when all of a sudden, a long arm stuck out of the corner and grabbed her by the hair. The poor girl was screaming and screaming and no one could hear her. The silhouettes on the walls indicate what kind of brutality she suffered under the hands of the brutal killer.

This left you with too much suspense. Do you really want to know what he did?

He pulled her hair and because of the strength of his pull, she was dragged all the way into the corner where he beat her senseless until she was bloodied. Once her body was drenched in blood, he started to molest her and took advantage of her limpness. After that, he pulled out a huge knife and killed her. God knows what he did to her body afterwards.

How did I know?

Eyewitness accounts. Early Morning News. Morning Paper.

These things describe events in a very detailed manner, almost as if they have seen the real thing themselves. As for me, I don't care about the exposure it gets. I just want to solve this baby.

"Young Girl Killed in the Alley." I read the headline out loud. For a minute there I thought I was starting to sound a lot like my boss Mr. Fletcher. "I better rally up all my sources and find out who did this." Now I really do sound like Mr. Fletcher.

Since it was only 7 in the morning, I found myself some time to get ready. Working in the Task Force, everyday clothing must be formal and simple. So I grabbed a white polo and some black pants. After putting them on, I topped it all off with a black blazer. Grabbing my stuff, I decided to stop by the coffee shop I usually go to to have some breakfast but I think my plans were cut short. My phone started ringing and I have a good feeling it's Conrad Fletcher again.

I was never wrong. When my phone rings, it can only be two people: Fletcher and my brother. No one else.

And this time, I think he means business.

"What do you want, Fletcher?" I asked grumpily, having known that my breakfast plans would be spoiled.

"Ms. Harlington, no need to act grumpy. It's only 7 am and you're acting like a total jerk. You-"I wasn't gonna have any of his crap. I hate it when Mr. Fletcher gets talkative and friendly. It's too awkward for a 40 year old guy to still be trying to act cool. I'm 28 years old and I don't even act cool so what or who gave him the right to?

"Let's just get down to business, okay? Don't make me call you Conrad again!" I threatened. He hates it when people call him by his first name. He prefers to be called Mr. Fletcher because that way, there's more authority, power, and respect in it.

"Okay. You've probably read the paper, saw the news, and heard it from others."

"Actually, it's the first thing I heard from my brother. He called me just to inform me about it." I replied sarcastically. I was walking towards my car and I got in. Conrad doesn't have to say it thrice or twice. Conrad doesn't even have to say it at all. I know that once he calls me up in the morning, it's his way of saying "Come to work now. I don't care if you're still groggy from your 4 hour sleep. I demand your presence here immediately!" He didn't have to say it in a nice way. He doesn't even have to open his goddamn mouth.

"You see. This guy is a deranged killer, alright. But he's unknown. We still don't know who he is and where he is. But what we do know is that we've got some reports about the body." That sparked my interest. I was driving to our headquarters and this made me want to speed up even more.

"I know. So what did you guys get?" I asked, unusually interested in the topic.

"Well, we know what happened to the girl. According to the data I have here in my hands, the girl's hair was pulled and upon pulling her hair, some parts of her scalp came off, trailing some blood on the ground. Once she was in the killer's hands, he beat her up until she was bloody. Areas that were hit were the breast, the stomach, the head, the legs, the everywhere. Basically everywhere. Signs of rape were also present but perhaps the most significant one is the mark on her stomach which appears to have been made right after he stabbed her in the heart for a good, I don't know, 13 times. He engraved some kind of mark on her stomach." I was getting really, really anxious and excited. It's kinda like one of those stories that I read about in books. It's finally coming true!

"And what did he engrave on her stomach?" I asked while driving.

"7183." he said. "The number 7183. He engraved it on her stomach. He engraved it and upon doing that, he tore her stomach apart in the process. Everything spewed out. From blood to some viscera. It was horrible. You should've been there."

"Aww..Too bad I wasn't there. " I said with a fake voice. Mr. Fletcher heartily laughed.

"Well if you think those numbers are the best part, wait till you see this!" he said excitedly. I may not want to admit it to myself but I am excited about it, too. I was too curious about it that I found myself suddenly asking him what the 'big thing' is.

"Oh. That's interesting. What's that big thing you're talking about?" I asked extremely curious. Mr. Fletcher let out a hearty mocking laugh. "Come down here and see for yourself, Ms. Harlington."

I had enough of his playing around and finally, I made my way to the Task Force Headquarters. I still had the phone in my hand and on my ear while driving.

"Hm. Interesting. Why don't you guys conduct a DNA test to verify who this killer is and maybe, I could hunt him down." I said cockily. I was having a good time talking to Mr. Fletcher that I didn't notice our office was just near. I slowed down, parked my car in my parking spot and stepped out of the car. Bringing my papers with me, I strutted down the Task Force hallway and entered the room where Conrad Fletcher and some of his young aids worked. They were all stunned when they saw me and immediately, they reported the thing to me. Since the rookie wards were crowding around me and telling the entire story to me once again, I had to raise my voice to call their attention and discipline them.

"Shut up everyone. I have heard that story. I've heard it from my brother, from the news, and from your Conrad Mr. Fletcher right there. Recently I heard it on the radio as well. So what I came here for is the "best thing" that Mr. Conrad Fletcher has been talking about on the phone with me earlier. Fletcher, where is it?" Fletcher pushed the other guys aside and allowed me to pass and see the body.

It was extremely disgusting and nothing short of gruesome, painful, sadistic, and heartless.

The girl was a beautiful young lady. Such a shame she had to die this way. Suddenly, Mr. Fletcher pulled something out of his pocket. It looked like a piece of paper with incoherent words written on it.

"The fuck is that?" I asked. I took the paper from him and began reading it, mentally at first.

"That was left by the killer. He plunged his knife into it before using it to stab the girl. So technically, she died with a knife in her stomach and a letter. Read it out loud, Ms. Fletcher."

The letter was unlike any other letter I've ever seen. I've heard about the Zodiac but this is one of a kind. It was written in a poetic manner, one with rhyme. Like the Zodiac, he gave away clues about his identity, his whereabouts, and whatever else. The letter reads:

_My fair lady, you had to die_

_In the gutter, before the moonlight_

_I know that I have caused fear_

_To those I hate and to those who treasure me dear_

_So for all those who are hunting_

_The man behind the cloak_

_You'll see my house_

_On a street, dilapidated near an oak_

_Hunt me down if you can_

_Hide in fear and miss your chance_

_I'm vicious as vicious could be_

_Mark the numbers 7-1-8-3_

_My sadism grows with each passing day_

_I'm all around town, find me if you may_

_For this town has never been as scared as hell_

_Of a young man whose name starts with a letter L_

"So!" uttered an optimistic and unusually happy Mr. Fletcher. He was so happy, his teeth were sparkling in the sunlight. It blinded me almost. "What do you think about it?" I smiled my fake smile back and replied, "So you wanna know what I think about it?" he just nodded pathetically and anticipated my reply. I gazed at the paper and continued to read it over and over again until I memorized every single line of that sickly twisted poem.

I allowed complete silence to envelope our office.

"I think it's great. Exceptionally creative and a true genius' work." I commented. I saw their jaws drop on the floor after my comment. No one could ever believe what they had just heard. They heard me, Florence Harlington, say that I liked the poem.

"Excuse me, but did you just say that you liked it?" asked Mr. Fletcher who is in utter disbelief. "Ms. Harlington, I don't mean to be-"

"Yes. I said it." I cut off his worthless sermon. "I do like it. And do you know why I like it?" I asked him. He managed a mere roll of the eyes and an err.

Err….err….errr……

"Because this poem is giving away the clues to the killer's whereabouts." I explained. I think he got the gist of it all. "That's why this work of bullshit art is helpful to us. This piece of diseased fuckery coming from the mind of an ill-thinking lunatic may be the very thing that could help us." Suddenly, Chief Clyde Morris snapped a finger in front of my face.

"Hey Harlington, wake up." he said. "What makes you think that we're gonna be able to hunt down that serial killer just by reading that poem? You must be some kind of a lunatic yourself if you think you can lock him up in prison by simply scanning those lines and stanzas! Those clues aren't enough! Nothing's ever enough! Not even the evidence here is enough! We're gonna have to work our asses off in here and the only way to bust him is to allow ourselves to get killed…that way, we'd be able to identify him and-"I clenched my fist and motioned him to shut the fuck up.

"Shut the fuck up." I finally put my actions into words. "Please, Morris. I don't need your pessimism. If you're gonna continue being the black sheep in our investigatory team, I suggest you grab your bags, take your retirement money, and spend your days golfing in the country club and maybe you'd be ten times happier!" Clyde did shut up. He listened to me for once in his stubborn agent life.

"What do we do now?" asked Clyde after receiving the biggest own of his life. I owned him and he couldn't do a thing about it.

"Well, we could use this poem to investigate on certain matters. We can track down this house by the oak. Don't you see guys, he's practically unveiling his identity by means of this poem. That's what this is for. However, this guy probably thinks we're a bunch of ill-witted morons who can't understand literature so he wrote it this way. Sadly, he's messing with the wrong group of people." I saw Mr. Fletcher adjust his sapphire colored tie.

"I think I may somehow have an idea about what he's trying to imply. I'm somehow getting the idea of the mind game he's trying to play." Mr. Fletcher said, sounding much more serious than before.

"He's giving away some clues. What's not to get?" Clyde said.

"No. I also am thinking the same." I butted in. "Somehow…some part of me says that the reason why he's writing these poems is to lure onlookers, family members, and righteous forces like us into his lair. You see, it's a booby trap. He wants us to actually follow him and once we're caught off guard, he'll kill us." I explained. The other agents were in awe of my explanation. They weren't expecting the youngest agent in the roster to be able to clarify and clear things up like this.

"So what are we really going to do?" asked Clyde Morris. Mr. Fletcher was looking at his papers, avoiding eye contact so as not to be the one to assign. Sensing his sudden avoidant attitude, I took over.

"We're gonna go on a mission. We're gonna hunt this guy down and stop his brutality for good. First off, since Conrad Fletcher here is quite busy, I'll be the head of this investigation." I could see Conrad's smirk from where I was standing. "And from here I shall form a team. A team of experts in criminology and forensic investigations. This team shall be composed of the following. The Head Agent, which is me; The Sub Head which is Steven Cornelius; and the Monitors will be Fletcher and Morris. Fletcher and Morris, you will be handling the news, the coverage, the facts, and the story itself. Also, evidences will be passed on to you."

Everyone in the office felt my awesome presence.

"So what are we waiting for? Let's get started before this thing worsens."

Let the investigation…begin.


	4. Strike Two, He's Gonna Get You

The Dream Team was finally formed. I was able to rally up Cornelius, Morris, and Fletcher. These are the best guys in the business as far as the Task Force Crime Fighting Committee's concerned. I've worked with them before and quite honestly, they may be jackasses or goof-ups in real life but when it comes to tracking down ruthless brutes, they're the best amongst the rest.

Steven Cornelius is not exactly the most dependable guy on the planet. He's a bit clumsy, somewhat awkward but nonetheless, he's very intelligent and he has a knack for figuring things out rather quickly. We've always been partners ever since we both started working here. He's a specialist when it comes to criminals just like me that's why I chose him to be my right hand man.

Tonight's no exception. Matter of fact, for a criminal-hunting expert like Cornelius, this is just smaller than a piece of cake. We were driving down the road when this topic began to take up more than 50 per cent of our conversation.

"Deranged killer, huh?" he asked. I was driving but I saw the expression on his face at the corner of my eye. He seemed intimidated. Not that it's wrong but it's kind of odd for an expert like Steven Jay Cornelius to be afraid. We've handled cases worse than this. "It's the first time I've encountered a guy who would carve numbers onto his victims' stomachs and stick a poem in it, too. Haven't heard of such." I laughed heartily at his remark, apathetic about his true feelings.

"Boy, he's nothing to be afraid of. You should be more afraid if we fail this mission." I sarcastically said. I don't think he took it lightly. He took it deeply, rather.

"You know what, it's kinda late and we've been working all day and now it's night so how's about a stop at the diner for some grub, whaddaya say?" he asked me with utter nervousness and fright in his tone. "My treat it is, Florence." I smiled and brushed off that "nervousness" thing. I agreed and parked the car in the parking lot. We got down and entered the diner where we were warmly welcomed by a waitress dressed in 50s diner waitress attire. Steven and I headed to our seats and sat down to scan the menu. We both decided to just eat some burger and fries.

"Burgers and fries it is. Give us 10-15 minutes, guys." the waitress said as she gleefully took our menu booklets and skipped merrily to the back. We watched her awkwardly and continued with our conversation. Despite several words spewing from my mouth, Steven only managed mere nods. We got to the point where we just stared at each other while waiting for

I could feel Steven's brain beat right now. You know that feeling wherein your brain's vibrating inside your head and you don't know what's causing it. That's what Steven's experiencing right now. At least I think he is. He seems like he is suffering from severe brain palpitations.

14 minutes into our waiting and the waitress-who's supposed to be carrying our food-still hasn't arrived. Steven began to look really, really pale and scared but I assured him that they were just taking extra time to make the food extra special.

"They're just spicing it all up. Just wait for a while, Steven. It'll be done." I said with optimism in my tone. Steven's not buying it, though. He has his OWN theory about what could've happened.

"I…know…I….O….Okay?!?" he said nervously. I became nervous when Steven began stammering and stuttering.

"Pull yourself together, Steve! We can't go on a mission like this." Then, he just lost it. Steven banged the table and stood up, rubbing his face in frustration and fright. He's all pale and I can tell he's just about to pee in his pants. Steven Jay Cornelius is afraid.

"Florence, don't you understand?! I've been eating in this diner for God-knows-how many years!!! It's very unlikely of this restaurant to serve its food late." He said in between gritted teeth. "Florence, something's happening. Something happened to that waitress. Something's wrong!" Then out of the blue, Steven just dashed out of the diner and walked around outside. Good thing there were only a few customers in there or we could have been put to shame. I stepped outside and followed Steven. I didn't find him. I tried looking for him but he's just not there! Later did I discover that Steven was at the back of the restaurant, trying to stop himself from screaming like a banshee.

I would've screamed like a banshee had I seen one too…

There at the back near the dumpster sat Steven. His hands were in front of his face, his eyes confused and his mind dazed. From the looks of it, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. I approached him and called his name but to no reply. He was just too numb to hear me calling.

"Steve…Steve…Steve…"

Still no reply. I tried going nearer to him but I think he just totally shut off and lost all forms of feeling. I hesitated and stopped, standing on my spot and watching Steven…but I decided to go near him and talk to him.

"Steve…Steve…Steve…."

Still, he never replied.

I really wanted to know why Steve was acting so strange over there. I approached him and to my utter horror, I know now why Steve was suddenly dazed and confused.

Like I said, I would've screamed like a banshee too had I seen one

Remember when Steve said that our orders were taking way too long and that it's unlikely of the restaurant to serve their food late? Well here's the answer to his and probably your question. No wonder our orders were taking too long. The waitress was murdered at the back of the diner, which has got me thinking since the food is inside, what could she be doing outside? Well, most probably the waitress decided that before she serves our food, maybe she'd like to take out the trash. But her life was cut short by this murderer or whoever…

And our dinner and appetites were cut short along with it.

As Steven's body rocked back and forth because of this horrific sight, I slowly pushed him away and examined the body. To my utter horror…the killer was here. Yeah, Peter Pan was here. I saw the waitress' body. She was stabbed all over with multiple wounds, cuts, and stabs. I also noticed that the stomach area of her dress was ripped apart, revealing a very disturbing sight: the numbers 7183. Also, a note was left behind. Actually, it was a poem. Since Steve was scared right out of his skeleton to even pick the paper up, I read it out loud.

It's a poem, just like before.

_Went to work, my darling dear_

_Oh but now your fate is clear_

_As you lie dead on the ground tonight_

_All those who see you will be drenched in fright._

_Where I am, you detectives ask_

_Well this diner I am way past_

_Try looking for me not behind the tree_

_But try finding me, blending in the city_

_I could be anywhere, hanging out and about_

_But most likely I'd be located in my small abode around town_

_I'm wearing what I usually wear on a killing spree_

_A brown cloak's expensive, it doesn't come for free_

_The jilted heart of mine, swimming in blood_

_Now it's your turn to drown in your flood_

_The entire Cornflower City prepare for the man_

_The killer around you named Peter Pan_

That motherfucking, ill-minded, diseased, son-of a bitch.

For a second there I thought I heard his voice in my head.

"W-What am I gonna do?!" asked a very cowardly Steven. Never in my entire career have I seen him so afraid and so submissive he just stopped moving. I grabbed my phone in my pocket and threw it at him. "Call the cops but keep the note. We're gonna be collecting notes for as long as this operation's on." Steve dialed the cops and after comforting and waiting for a few minutes, the cops finally arrived, startling the other customers and staff in the restaurant. Once the cops arrived, I talked to them about the body. The people in the diner stepped out to check the scene and were horrified and saddened at the sight of the waitress dead out there. What a random killing, I thought. What did this waitress do to the killer to deserve such a brutal ending? The police took the body while the others restrained the guards. Steve was standing, leaning on our car while staring at the ground. I looked at him and smiled. Steve does have a weak side, doesn't he?

The cop approached me and talked to me about this.

"So uhm…this has been happening since when?" asked the cop.

"Since I first received my report. My report on this, specifically." I answered.

"Phone us in again if you need help." said the cop, tilting his police hat. I answered with a shrug and cocked my head to the side. I motioned Steve to get inside the car and we'll continue this mission.

While I was driving, Steve was still in a shock stupor. I couldn't believe that that thing would be the very thing that would weaken the normally awkward yet resilient and diligent Steve. I couldn't resist it. I just had to talk to him. But he didn't give me the chance as he was the one to open his mouth first.

"What just happened?" he asked me out of the blue. He was in a random mood and was kind of shocked and tired after what happened. "May I see the note." I took the note from the side of the odometer and showed it to him. "There. Read it." I said. Steven took a good look at it and read it over and over again until he was sure he understood it.

"This is motherfucking fuckery." he said out loud but in a calm and emotionless

voice.

"Tell me about it. Wait…."I suddenly remembered something. "Can you read the second line of the 3rd stanza please." Steven did so. It made me think. So this guy's just out and about? In a brown cloak? He's around town and he's wearing a brown cloak? Well we shall find out.

"Well practically, Lori, that's what he said. He's wearing a brown cloak and he's scattered around." Steven seemed to have snapped out of his shell shocked stupor and saw reality again. Plus, he called me Lori. My nickname.

"So we shouldn't really be deserting ourselves and depriving ourselves of civilization. We should be looking for him in the city." Steven nodded slowly. Somehow, he's kinda sleepy and on an empty stomach, I don't think his brain's working that well. His brain palpitations did stop, though. Mine is the one working. I thought long and hard about how that creep was able to get away with this. No matter, I said. While Steven slept like a baby, I took my phone out again and phoned the police. One last call. No trouble here, just a reminder.

"Yello!" answered the cop I talked to earlier. I recognized his scruffy voice.

"Sir, I need you to send that body to the Task Force and I suggest you collaborate with them."

"Pardon me who's this?"

I rolled my eyes. "This is Florence Harlington, the one you talked to earlier on. The one at the scene of the waitress murder.

"Oh yes, Ms. Harlington. So you'd like me to send the body to the Task Force."

"Send sounds a bit too off. Try bringing it there. Okay? Thank you very much." I hung up. I resumed my driving when the sight of the crumpled, bloody brown paper caught my eye. It was in Steven's hand. I pried the thing out of his hand placed it near my odometer so I'd be able to read it over and over again until I go crazy.

Over and Over and Over again.

Then I noticed some sort of scribble written on the lower right part of the paper. Since there weren't many cars at that time of the night, I stopped in the middle of the street and began to re-read this thing.

_I__'m In The City. Come and Catch Me. _

Pathetic and childish. Yet I saw another one. In fact, since he wrote it using black ink, I could see the writings at the back part. I flipped it and began to read. It's kinda like a song. To the tune of My Darling Clementine.

_I am very, I am very, I am very clandestine_

_Come and find me try to catch me_

_Strike two you're next in line._

That totally creeped me out! But I found it very pathetic, too. How lame for a killer. However, maybe I just wouldn't admit it to myself. I'm terrified of this killer. I don't know who he is and where he is.

We just kept on driving until…


	5. Strike Three, What Do You See?

…Until we reached the very heart of the city. There were so many people and I honestly don't know where to find our suspect. Since the weather's relatively cold, many people would be putting their cloaks and trench coats on, thus making it 10 times harder for us to locate and detect our suspect. The highway was moist and wet with rain that made the temperature drop lower than its current degree. Almost everyone we saw was wearing a brown cloak and from that moment on, we got confused.

"Shit man!" exclaimed an already awake Steven. He nearly jumped out of his seat when he saw the people wearing brown cloaks. I could swear he nearly went crazy after eyeing them all. "Shit man, where are we?" he asked.

"We're in the heart of the city." I told him. "Where everyone wears a brown cloak." I added with fake enthusiasm that seems to annoy Steven. 

"Yeah right. And where everyone is a possible serial killer, thank you very much Lori." I laughed when he called me Lori. Nobody ever called me Lori before except my family members. But on with the mission, we looked everywhere and anywhere possible. From here to there, we just eyed them all. Well not exactly everyone was wearing a brown cloak, some others were wearing dark cloaks while some donned bright clothes. But one man in particular caught our eye. Since our driving was somewhat slow because of the traffic and of the people, we were able to notice this one guy walking. He had a hat on and the brown cloak. He seems to be scrunching a piece of paper in his hand as he hastily made his way to the park…the HIDDEN part of the park. I took time to look at his eyes and from there I saw the paranoia and the fear. It was obvious he's trying to hide but sorry for him, he wasn't able to hide from us.

"Lori, I think I just saw him." blurted Steven unconsciously. His eyes were on the man who was running away the minute he sensed that he was being watched. Damn. Steven's thinking the same thing too. And I thought he was just sitting there acting stupid and insane, he saw it…too.

"Damn! You're thinking the same thing I'm thinking. I thought you were just sitting there acting all stupid and insane. I never knew you saw it, too!" I said. Steven looked at me and gave me his signature eyebrow arch. "Who do you think I am? Clyde Morris? But enough of that, I'mma catch this guy." My eyes were forced to open wide when Steven said that he was 'gonna catch that guy'. Damn. 

"What the fuck? Steven are you out of your fucking mind? We're caught up in traffic!!! You can't just go down there and hunt for that bastard! You're gonna have to-" he cut me off. Steven has never done that to me before. He cut me off.

"Save your yapping for later and open the door. I'm gonna stalk him." Steven lost all cowardice in his body and leapt for the park upon the unlocking of the car door. He recalled where the perpetrator entered and crouched down there. From here, I couldn't help but feel worried. Steven might not make it.

My cellphone rang…in the middle of traffic.

"Yo! It's Steven Cornelius. I'm calling from behind the bush. The man in cloak just seems to be sitting there and contemplating. He's thinking. He's waiting. But he's writing something. Whaddaya think it is?" he phoned me.

"Steves, I think it's the poem. But before you leap over him and attack him, you better observe him first. We don't want to embarrass ourselves by jumping on the wrong guy now, do we?" I said. I heard Steven's laugh and from where I was sitting, I could see his shoulders moving up and down.

"Geez Lori. I've been doing this for as long as you've been doing this. Don't you think we're supposed to…HOLY CRAP!" I got worried when he yelled holy crap. I could feel the boom of his voice swimming in my ears and jumping on my brain, fucking around with my blood. In short, it raged throughout my entire system. I was suddenly startled. And scared. 

"Shut the fuck up! You're gonna startle the suspect. He might turn to you and bludgeon you! Also, your yell is bludgeoning my eardrum!" I yelled back. "What did you see anyways? What's so scream-worthy there?" 

"Lori! It's fucking scary! It's just so fucking scary! You have to come down here! Quick!"

"I CAN'T!" I yelled. "No one will man the car. Just tell me what's going on out there!"

"Well truth to be told, he was sitting with a girl. The girl looks like a prostitute though and-"

His line went dead. 

He's dead.

I told him to hang on as I swerved the car away from the traffic and carelessly parked it near the park. I saw Steven crouching down near the bush and I breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that. I crouched down next to him and asked him why he just slammed his phone like that. What I saw scared the mighty fuck out of me.

His phone was on the ground.

And no, he's not dead.

"What's going on here?" I whispered to him. He pointed his finger at the bloody body of the girl.

"That's what made me drop my phone." 

We moved to another concealed location from where we could watch the action. Since it was dark and the trees are pretty tall, tall enough to hide him and his actions. But he wasn't able to hide from us. We got pretty close to him. 

We saw what he did.

First off, the girl beside him _**is**_ a prostitute clad in all black. Apparently, based on what Steves has told me, he called for her and she came to him. She sat next to him and while they were on the brink of making out, he pulled out some masking tape and taped her mouth so that her screams wouldn't be heard. Upon that, he slit her throat and proceeded with the stabbing-which he is still doing right now.

When he finally stopped, he stared at the body. He saw it was beautiful, bloody, and gruesomely slew. He started singing which creeped the bejesus out of us.

"Strike one, let's have some fun…Strike two, I'm gonna get you….Strike three what do you see…Strike four, I'll shut the door…Strike five, I'll take your life"

It reminded me of Freddy Kruger. But I'm not one to believe in movies. We continued to stalk him and watch him and as soon as we're sure he's gone, we made our move.

Steven and I made our way to the concealed part of the park where the girl's body lay. We examined the body. This one's admittedly more twisted than the previous murders. The girl's lying on the blood-drenched grass, with her eyes stabbed shut and a long piece of masking tape over her mouth. The crazy part about it is the drawing of a smile on the masking tape where the mouth's supposed to be. As usual, her clothes were torn and the killer made his mark 7-1-8-3 and a signature poem.

_You tried looking for me_

_Here and about_

_Come and find me now_

_My discovery's a doubt_

_I'm right around the place _

_Sooner I'll be right in front of your face_

_So if you wanna survive_

_You better beat me in this race_

_I haven't gone further _

_From where I was last seen_

_In fact, I'm staying in a motel_

_On Justice corner Jeanne_

_So I've succeeded once again_

_Everything went according to planned_

_I'm winning this game it's my own stand_

_Sincerely, a guy named Peter Pan_

"Fuck!" I said. "Here we go again. I'm tired, hungry, and sleepy, and now this?! Man this place has got to stop shitting me." But when I looked at Steven ho just happens to be examining the body, something tells me he's in it to win it.

"Lori, read the 3rd stanza once more, please." he requested. I complied to his request and re-read the 3rd stanza. Steven rubbed his chin and began to think

"Justice corner Jeanne. He's giving away his location. Now's our chance. Let's bust this bastard's ass." Steven said with unusual spunk.

"Wait. Where is that Justice corner Jeanne?"

"We're just gonna have to look for it." he smiled after saying so. I couldn't help but smile back at him. He was just too spirited.

"Alright. But first, I'mma call the cops. We're gonna have this body taken and examined." I pulled out my phone and dialed the cops' number. I can't believe it. In a single night, he was able to kill two people. Amazing.

After having a lengthy conversation with the cops on the phone, the forces of righteousness have arrived. While there, they talked to me as Steven continued to examine the body.

"So what exactly is this mean bully trying to do?" asked the cop who befriended me earlier.

"Well, sir, he's clearly trying to tell us that he's just around the place and he's challenging us to find him. I think it's clever but at the same time, I think it's a trap. You know, to lure us and kill us. I don't know honestly. But whatever his motive is, I think it's a pretty fucked-up one." I explained.

"He left us this poem, just as he always would." Steven butted in. "He said that he's in a motel on Justice corner Jeanne. We're gonna find that Justice corner Jeanne place."

"Uhm, Steven." the cop said. "It's kind of late. I think you two should rest. You've been awake for quite some time now and I think you should take this opportunity to grab some shut-eye." the cop suggested.

"Know what, you're right officer. Why don't you just do what you did before. A'yt? You know the drill, take the body and bring it to the Task Force for further investigation. " I gave him a good tap on the shoulder and sent him off. He and his other mates took the body and drove away. Steve and I were left there.

"He's right. Let's go someplace else and spend the night there, shall we?" Steven nodded and rubbed his head.

"But what about our case?" he asked.

This is where I saw the raw determination and passion in Steven. He's really passionate about this case and there's nothing that could stop him.

"We can work on it tomorrow." I said calmly. Frustration overcame that spirited face of his. I shook my head and smiled meekly. I just crushed his spirit and he's probably mad about it. He rubbed his head one more time and nodded, "Okay. Okay. Okay. We'll work tomorrow. We will."

Finally. He agreed.

With that in mind, we both hopped in the car and searched for a motel to sleep in. Steven's mind is not calm yet.

_**[A/N: **__** In this particular part, Leeteuk's point of view will be read.]**_

I stayed inside the motel. It was cold outside but the room's hot. So hot I hade to take my cloak off. I spied on them from here. They're after me. Those agents are after my ass. I've been discovered. I was found out about. I'm busted. I have to be extra careful this time if I still want to go on avenging my mother's soul. They killed her. These women killed her. It's their fault. It's their fault. The main reason why I'm on a rampage and on a spree is because of them. It's them who drove me into deep spiraling depression, incurable insomnia, bouts of insanity, and schizophrenia. Because of what they did to mother, I am insane. No mother, don't worry about me. Don't you worry a fuck about me, my dearest mother. I am fine. It's not your fault. It's theirs.

It's not your fault.

It's not my fault.

I've been a nihilist long enough. Ever since mother died, I lost my desire to do anything. I lost my desire to live, in general. Why did mother die? Well, my mother just happened to be heavily scrutinized, criticized, and mocked by the others. Why is that? My mother's not the most perfect person in the world. And if by perfect you mean pretty, she's not pretty and even I, her own son, am not that stupid to not see that. But the others' words were cruel, namely those beautiful women who would make fun of my mother. Damn them all. That's why they should suffer. Those beautiful people should suffer for the pain they caused my mother.

I believe that they're hell's angels.

I am a fallen angel

I'm heaven sent.

So if those agents want to find me, they know where to find me…

They just wouldn't know how.

And so with a weary heart and a worn out body, while washing my blood-smothered hands in the bathroom, I sing…

"_Strike one, let's have some fun. Strike two, I'm gonna get you. Strike three, what do you see? Strike four, I'll shut the door. Strike five, I'll take your life." _


	6. Strike Four, I'll Shut The Door

_**[A/N: **__**This certain chapter is narrated from Steven's POV. Some Leeteuk POV as well. But of course, Florence's POV will never fade away]**_

I was sleeping on the second bed next to Lori's bed. In fact, I wasn't sleeping. I was wide awake. I couldn't stop thinking about the body or the bodies that we saw just this night. While lying in bed, random thoughts kept on flying in and out of my mind that at some point, I just want to get up and do more agent work.

And why ever not?

Since I'm suffering from a really severe case of insomnia, I figured it would be great if I did some detective work at night. You know, kinda like continuing it for Lori. I stood up and crept silently to the bathroom. I kept on checking on Lori just to make sure she wasn't awake. When I was sure she wasn't, I put on my agent gear and headed right out. I locked the door and made sure Lori was safe inside. I had to do this alone, even if it meant getting myself into a shitload of trouble.

Shitload of trouble, meaning getting hurt.

Getting hurt, meaning getting myself killed.

Hurriedly, I ran for the car and got in once I reached it. I started the engine and began to drive around the city, looking for this "Justice corner Jeanne". The streets were kind of blurry during the night but this didn't hinder me from trying to find this street where the killer is said to be staying in for the night. The streets were crooked, but I'm determined.

I am my mind. I am my will. I am my destiny.

After a few confusing twists and turns, I finally found the motel on Justice corner Jeanne. The motel looked nothing special. Just a small building with some rooms that look hot and cramped. Some place I wouldn't wanna be in. I stepped out of my car and walked slowly and quietly to the front door. I hesitated. Since this motel is kind of short, maybe I could just peer through the windows. You know, check him.

Problem?

I don't know who he is. We don't know how he looks like.

That's the problem.

So I just went back inside my car and waited for someone wearing a brown cloak to come out of the motel and gustily kill someone in the dead of the night.

Be careful what you wish for.

You just might get it.

I got my wish. It came true. I saw a man wearing a brown cloak with a fedora on his head. He seems to be fixing some shit inside his cloak and this really alarmed me. I didn't want him to see me. I want him to **not** see me. I want to take him by surprise. So what did I do? I stalked him. While he was walking to wherever he was gonna walk, hunting for a young lady on the streets, I followed him with quiet footsteps, hiding time from time each time he'd turn around to check if someone was following him. He never noticed me.

Until a pretty, late 20s looking lady sprouts out. That's when Peter Pan started to ready himself. I readied myself as well. From behind the wall, I spotted the action.

"Hey! What's a pretty girl like you doing late at night?" he asked the girl. I heard their conversation from behind this wall. Yep! It's Peter Pan alright. The cloak, the everything. It's obvious. It's him. He was talking to the lady and while the lady was so caught up in their conversation, he started feeling his jacket. I guess he's looking for his knife. Or his gun. Or whatever killing instrument he's gonna use to slay this young lady.

He's not the only one with a killing instrument…

I have a killing instrument, too.

Peter Pan and the girl ended their conversation with a handshake but when Peter Pan got too intimate by trying to hug her, that's when I get mad. I leapt from the back of the wall and told him to unhand the girl before he gets hurt.

"Ahahahaha!" he laughed. And oh boy his laugh is so goddamn annoying. What a mother! Instead of leaving a bloody trail, why didn't he just laugh his ass off?! His laugh alone is enough to kill! "What are you gonna do, cop boy? Shoot me? Try me!" he challenged me but I wasn't having any of his bullshit! I pushed the girl aside, sending her to the ground and began beating him up. We fought the worst fucking fight we've been in in our lives. It started with jabs and kicks then it escalated to threats and finally, the usage of the killing instruments.

Our killing instruments.

Peter Pan pulled out a knife from his cloak and I drew my gun. We looked each other with intensity in the eyes. A common thing we shared: Hatred.

"The hell are you doing here, you jackass!?" he yelled at me. His auburn hair blowing in the cold December wind. He smiles his jackass smile, those dimples showing on both sides of his mouth. I hated every bit of him right now. As I point my gun at him, I could feel myself throwing stare darts at him, hitting him in parts never explored in ways unimaginable to man. In short, I could see myself honestly killing him right now.

"The hell I'm doing here? I'm trying to stop your killing spree, for fuck's sake. You leave these girls alone you son of a bitch!" I yelled back. He brought his arm down and began to play around with the knife's blade. He took the girl by the hair and choked her with his arm, the knife close to her neck. The girl's screams filled the night but Peter Pan had to hit her again.

"Let's make a deal. You live, the slut dies. The slut lives, you die. It's your choice." I don't know what this deal was for but whatever it is, it's nothing short of stupid.

"I don't fucking care about your fucking deal. Alright? Just let go of the girl. She has done you no harm! Why the hell do you have to-"

_**[A/N:**_** Leeteuk's POV starts here]**

I had enough of his chatter. I pulled out my gun with my other hand and shot him. He's getting too talkative. We'd be found out about. The girl kept on screaming after seeing that nosy agent get shot. I had enough of her, too and I slit her throat. Blood poured out and I was victorious once more.

However, I'm aware that this loser has a partner. How'd I know? Fuck it, I've been spying on them since they were in the park. The lady's the one I'm watching out for. She seems brilliant. Tough, smart, and cunning. I might lose to her.

I just might.

On the spot, I penned my poem.

_You fought your way for what is right_

_But sadly, you have lost the fight_

_There will be no more of you in sight_

_Because your blood spilled this night_

_To your partner, if you're curious_

_If you're getting ultimately suspicious_

_Mark the numbers 7-1-8-3_

_Remember those and you'll find me_

_If you're ultimately curious_

_I know you're serious_

_I told you where I live_

I left their bodies there to rot. And after this, I went on with my business.

Cleaning up the blood.


	7. Butterfly

~o Leeteuk's POV o~

"Let me go! Let me go!" she screams as I carry her to my car and stuff her in the trunk. With her hands tied, I threw her in and slammed the trunk's door shut.

After our long drive, we finally reached the house. My house. I stepped out of my car and swiftly ran to the back of the car where precious little beauty queen Mariposa Cooper is. I open the trunk and greet here with a menacing smile that seems to make her cringe. I laughed and said,

"What are you looking at?"

"I'm looking at your smug face and I'm thinking of a way to break it."

Her reply almost made me laugh. How could a helpless girl all tied up, afraid and lying in the trunk possibly do that? I didn't care and I just went on with the damn process. I lifted her from where she was and carried her kicking and screaming to my house. I opened the door and threw her body on the floor. She starts becoming squeamish and as I untie the ropes which coil her wrists and ankles. She just broke down and the once feisty Mariposa Cooper has lost it.

"Please don't hurt me. Please." she begged over and over again.

"Mariposa. A butterfly with beautiful wings. Too had I had to cut them off." I beat her up to weaken her, battering every visible amount of skin. I took my stun gun and gave her a shot. Mariposa lost consciousness and so I took her to the basement where I hung her upside down. Her torture's just about to begin.

~o Florence's POV o~

I was shocked to find out the following day that Steven was no longer in the room. Hurriedly, I got dressed and dashed out of our motel, with my mindset on Steven and his whereabouts. I zoomed into the car and around the cit when I witnessed a commotion at the park. There were news reporters, paparazzos, photographers, and many more. Oddly enough, the ruckus was at the same place where Steven and I stalked the killer and examined the victim. I stopped the car and got down, worriedly and hurriedly pushing the other media men aside. What I saw made me crumble an fall onto my knees.

It was a girl's body. Mutilated and gruesomely murdered.

Was that the sad part?

No. The sad part is just about to come.

I crumbled and fell onto my knees upon seeing Steven's dead body there next to the girl's. Both of them had poems stuck in their stomachs. I grabbed both papers which were skewered on knives. I read both papers and emotion just poured right out of me. The mere sight of Steven's lifeless body lying bloody on the ground is enough to make me get all mushy and gushy. I could feel the tears wanting to jump over my lower eyelids and roll gently down my face but I refused to let it do so. Instead, I pocketed the poems and took my cellphone out. I called Fletcher and Clyde up. They just had to know.

"Yello?" answered Clyde. I walked over to the huge tree and sat at its roots. I really wanted to cry so I let Clyde hear a few gasps for breath and a few whimpers.

"Agent Harlington! Are you there?" I answered yes and sniffed. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Mr. Morris, I know this news will rattle you as much as it has rattled me, but…"I really broke down and crumpled the poems in my hand.

"Pull yourself together and tell me straight up…what is it?" he asked, already annoyed. I think he's not used to hearing me so emotional, especially since I owned him around two days ago.

"Steven's dead. He was killed by Peter Pan. I guess he tried to fight him off but to no avail…" I finally let the tears flow. I just can't contain it anymore.

"What?" Clyde yelled in shock.

"Yeah. But you know what, you don't have to yell at me. I'm going deaf." I said.

Clyde and I shared a moment of silence. Just then, I heard some sort of commotion in there. Instantly, I wiped my tears away and stood from where I sat. I knew something was wrong.

"Clyde, what's happening in there?" I asked him. "Something's wrong."

"Apparently." Clyde said half-heartedly. "The guys received a message from some parents, namely Mr. and Mrs. Cooper." I smartened my hearing up.

"Go eavesdrop and tell me about it later." his phone line went dead and immediately, right after that, I received a call from Fletcher.

"Ms. Harlington, I heard about your little problem and I think this mission will be your answer." Answer. I was delighted to hear that word. Finally. There IS an answer.

"What is it, Conrad?"

"Well you see, a young beauty queen was reported to be missing from her home just a few hours ago. She was kidnapped but her whereabouts are still unknown. I think this may have something to do with Peter Pan."

"Wait. What?" I said, clearing my throat and asking for Fletcher to repeat it.

"Young girl's gone missing, no one knows where she's at….." all of a sudden, I heard something coming from the monitors in the office.

"I'll call you later. You figure your shit out first." He hung up and I hung up. I investigated on the matter while trying hard to contemplate on the loss of my friend. Emotions were still running deep but I went on with the analysis. The cameramen and media men were surrounding and distracting me so I just had to make a stand.

"Please go away. I'm trying to work here. It's bad enough that I lost my friend and my partner! Your cameras, questions, and faces don't have to add up to my misery right now." I snarled at them. They left one by one and I was finally in peace again. I'm able to work on the case properly. I called the cops up and had them pick this body up. Emotions are eating me up again.

A few hours later, I was driving my way home to sort things out and think about things when the case Fletcher informed me about suddenly hit me. I then thought it would be really smart if I headed home and studied these poems.

~o at home o~

Upon reaching my house, I dropped everything and took out the poems from my bag. All the poems. From the very first poem he penned down the most recent one. I read them all one by one, reviewing them, analyzing them, trying in vain to memorize them line per line. This guy's getting harder and harder to catch yet easier and easier to find. That didn't make sense but somehow, I hope you know what I'm thinking. The recent poem-which I just got this morning while investigating Steven and the other lady's bodies-had some sort of a paragraph written at the back. Curious, I flipped it and read the back part.

_To: The Lucky Bastard Who Will Be Able To Pick This Up_

_Hey. This is an open letter to whoever will be able to pick this piece of shit up. I have kidnapped Mariposa Cooper, 17 year old city beauty queen for reasons that should remain confidential. Mariposa will suffer from intense torture in my hands. From floggings to beatings to burnings to explicit harm, she will undergo it all. Now, I'm no materialistic guy. I don't care if you're gonna offer me a million bucks for the release of this bitch. I will not release her. Because honestly, I don't care if you offer me money or not. I just want this bitch dead. _

_For all those who are trying to find me, I know who you are and I think you yourself know who you are. If you happen to have passed by the carnage in the park a while ago, you'll know your fate. But if you're one stubborn son of a bitch who's looking for some action then come on over! The dilapidated house near an oak tree. Then you'll find me. _

_-Peter Pan._

_Oh and by the way, Mrs. Cooper and Mr. Cooper, I don't care if you beg and plead on television. Broadcast your heart out, it's fine with me. I won't return your girl and you're just wasting your time. Sucks to you. _

Broadcast? What? They broadcasted it? I grabbed the remote control and turned the television on. Yep. He's right. They're all over the news. The Coopers have been garnering national attention because of their daughter's disappearance. Well, fear not, I'm gonna find her. But first, I have to piece this thing together. Starting with the very first poem. What did he say there?

APPEARANCE: Okay first off, he said that he's a man wearing a brown cloak. Well considering the fact that the weather here is quite chilly, a lot of men could be wearing brown cloaks.

LOCATION: This guy moves around so I have to be vigilant. I'll never know when he will strike so I have to have my gun with me at all times. Fully loaded with extra bullets in my pocket. Don't forget a Swiss knife and an extra gun. Another, he said that he lives in a dilapidated house near an oak tree.

OTHER CLUES: The numbers 7183 are consistently carved on his victims' stomachs. I talked to Fletcher about this and he told me that each victim has "7183" carved on their stomach. Which is why we want to further investigate the matter because this just seems weird and quite brutal if you ask me.

I set out for my mission. I brought with me the poems, the guns, and everything else when something fucked up appeared on TV. It was the young beauty queen. I pulled a chair and sat down to watch everything. She was sitting on the floor, bloodied and beaten. The video was sort of blurred so I wasn't able to see anything clearly. It was in black and white but I was able to see some guy wearing a paper bag over his head, flogging the girl with a belt-2 BELTS… The girl began screaming and crying. Her screams and cries were so loud that not even the chapped audio of the video could prevent me from hearing it. I was about to leave when I saw more. The guy flogging the girl took out a cigarette stick and lit it. After smoking a little, he pulled the thing out of his mouth and pressed the butt against the girl's skin, making her scream even more. He dropped the stick and stepped on it before facing the camera to talk to the world with a paper bag on his head. What he said, I was able to jot down.

_To all of you out there watching, this is the precious Mariposa Cooper, daughter of Sterling Cooper and Meredith Cooper. If you two want your daughter back, well I__'m sorry. There's nothing I can do about it the same way there's nothing you could do about it. But for now, I'm gonna leave precious little Mariposa in the basement and perhaps have some fun on my own tonight._

He said some more but I wanted to shut him up. I just couldn't take his monstrosity anymore. I reviewed all the clues once more, reading them over and over and jotting down the important notes and subliminal messages. I deciphered every possible thought that was concealed by the deep words. I was just about ready to work on another case but then the death of Steven came running around the corner of my mind again. I was forgetting about it already but it came back. I felt bad.

Then I figured, I guess I wouldn't be doing the investigation tonight.

Why?

Because I'd be visiting my most favorite spot in the world.

The bar.


	8. The House Near the Oak

~So I won't be doing any investigations tonight or anything related to investigatory/detective work. I'll just be chilling in the bar, doing my usual stuff there. Why? Because I want to wash away the stress that comes with work. I'm just really stressed out because of Steven's death. Steven's been my partner ever since the day we started working for the Task Force. We've grown together and we matured together not just as friends but as siblings. We grew up together in the Task Force not physically but emotionally and mentally. Steven has always been there to help me out whenever I needed something and I was always there to gladly lend a hand.

And now, he's dead. Just like that.

It's just so fucking heartbreaking on my part to accept that my best friend and my brother is not with me anymore. I'm all alone. Sure, I have Clyde and Fletcher there but they're nothing compared to Steven. Steven's always been the best there is…Best there was….best there ever will be.

But he's gone now. What's the point of trying to bring those memories back. It's not like he's gonna come back to life if I cry out here. Instead, I just ordered another tall glass of beer and chugged it down my throat. Now life's more acceptable. Everything's always more acceptable when you're drunk.

That was until I saw someone…

Someone I know…

Or so?

I saw some guy walk inside the club. He was wearing a fedora and a brown cloak. I stood up and snapped out of my drunken state and tried to get a closer look at the guy. I walked towards him but not really that close. Just a shy of a few inches away. The guy-with all this dancing and music in the club-didn't see me and confidently took his hat and cloak off. I was surprised. This guy's rather dashing for a suspected killer. He has auburn hair with the bangs hanging right below his eyes, covering them in that manner. His eyes were a beautiful shade of brown, enough to make a girl go weak at knees when he stares at them. For a short while, I saw him smile. Dimples. He has beautiful dimples that appear whenever he beams. Beautiful. Another is his slender figure. No wonder a lot of girls fall for this guy.

But I'm not one of those girls.

Matter of fact, I am not a girl anymore.

I'm a woman.

And I think at this age, I should know better than to trust a conniving son of a bitch like him. I don't trust him one bit and I don't even want to.

But I guess trusting him and earning his trust would be my one way ticket to finally capturing him.

Wait a second. Just because I saw the brown cloak doesn't mean he's the guy. I mean, with the cold weather that's been taking over the atmosphere nowadays, anybody could be seen sporting a brown cloak. Maybe he just coincidentally owns one exactly like the killer.

For one minute there, I started to trust this guy without even talking to him yet.

I have to dig deeper. I have to dig even deeper.

For some sick reason that kicked in my mind, I thought of approaching him and actually striking a conversation with this guy. It's the only way I'd know if he's the killer or not. I have to get to know him better and to do that, I have to talk to him. Soberly and steadily, I approached him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to me and smiled.

"Hiya there miss!" he said with a casanovan tone in his voice. It was awkward because no one has ever used that tone when talking to me so I felt sort of weird. Not in a good way, though.

"Hey. Uhm. I'm Florence Harlington. Yeah. I am me…that's my name. Yeah." I mumbled while extending my hand for him to shake. He took my hand and shook it. His hand was warm and cozy…and admittedly very comforting to touch. He had the touch of an angel. Not too cold and not too hot. Just right.

"Why don't you sit down and I'll buy you some drinks. I'd like to get to know you better, Ms. Florence Harlington." I was surprised. This guy remembered my name. Whenever other people would introduce themselves to me, I wouldn't remember their names later on. He stood up and went to the bar where he bought some whisky for us to share. Two glasses to be exact. He came back with the glasses and gave me one.

"For you, my lovely miss." Another awkward statement from this guy. I was feeling extremely uneasy in his presence that I just want to leave but I couldn't. And I wouldn't. I won't leave until Steven has been brought to justice. But I guess the only way to do that is to communicate with this guy and see what he knows.

"So. Uhm. Mr…."I stammered. His beautiful brown eyes stared at me and his pale skin got even paler. I assume he's Asian…Korean to be exact.

"Mr. Park." he said with a smile. His dimples were visible once more. His smile's just darn captivating. I can't help but say it. But I'm not about to lose myself and this mission.

"Right. So Mr. Park. Uhm. Where…are you from?" I began to interrogate him while trying to pass it off as a 'getting-to-know-you' thing.

"I'm from Seoul. But I moved here with my family when I was a kid."

"Mmm…"I sipped some whiskey and continued to talk to him. "So when were you born?"

"July 1st 1983."

I choked on the whiskey. I thought I would die. I coughed and coughed until I was sure I vomited my heart, lungs, and stomach out.

"Ms. Harlington, are you alright?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"Yes. Ehem..I'm uhh. I'm fine. Don't you worry about me, Mr. Park I am fine." he smiled and handed me a napkin. I used it to wipe my mouth hurriedly and crumpled it before throwing it away. "It's just that…you know…uhmm,…" I was trying to think of a logical excuse to fool him but in my drunken state, I just couldn't think of any.

Then it hit me.

"We share a birthday!" I blurted. He smiled and shook his head.

"Unbelievable!" he chuckled. "Who knew an acquaintance like you shared a birthday with me?"

"I know. Isn't it funny?" I just laughed. But he didn't know that I was on a mission.

"So uhm. What are your hobbies?" I asked him. His warm smile turned into a sly one. He moved closer to me and played with my curls by twirling them on his finger.

"Why do you want to know? Are you on to me or something?" he asked with a suspicious voice. I pushed him aside and straightened up. I smartened my blazer and asked him in return,

"Do you think I'm on to you? Why? Did you do something wrong? Are you guilty of something?" he slouched and shook his head.

"Sorry. I got carried away. I was rude. Sorry." I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I took the glass and sipped once more.

"So? What are your hobbies?" I asked him once more, the friendliness disappearing from my voice.

"I like writing poems." he said with a sigh.

I nearly choked on my drink but good thing I was able to stop it.

"Good. I write a lot too, you know? Any other interests?"

I saw a smirk come across his face.

"I love girls. Pretty girls."

That's it.

I knew it.

He's our man.

"Just like you." he added.

And I need to go to the bathroom.

"For a while, Mr. Park. I need to attend to my personal necessities, if you don't mind." the smirk never left his face. I felt so awkward and for the first time so scared that I don't even want to go back to that table. It was a couch, as a matter of fact.

And no, I will not attend to my personal necessities.

I rushed to the bathroom and locked myself inside a cubicle where I sat on the floor and took a piece of tissue paper which was in the dispenser. Using the pen I brought with me, I wrote down all the relevant clues.

First one: His birthday's on the 1st of July 1983. Makes sense. July is the 7th month of the year. He was born on the 1st day and in the year 1983. So if you're gonna look at it, it'll be: 7-July. 1st -1. 1983-83=7183. The number he would carve on his victims' stomachs. Perfect!

Second one: When I asked him about his interests, he was hesitant at first. Maybe because he knew I was on to him. He knew I was investigating and interrogating him. He knew I was a detective. That's why he didn't want to answer at first. I had to threaten him and make it suspenseful for him before he could even answer. And what did he answer? Simple. Poetry writing. How's that relevant? The killer named 'Peter Pan' left poems as clues to his whereabouts. He's a poet and a killer at the same time.

Third one: He added that he likes girls as well. Well considering the fact that most of his victims ARE girls, I guess I wouldn't have any doubts.

That was it. That's all it took. One stupid and awkward conversation was all it took to get this information. Now that I've juiced them out, it's time for me to get into action…yeah, that kind of action.

I'm finally going to put plan B into effect.

And what would Plan B be?

I'm gonna pretend to be a hooker. Sucks, but it's my job.

I walked out of the bathroom and went back to our table where he was still sitting there, half-sober yet fully awake. He glared at me in an unfriendly manner and ordered me to sit down.

"What's going on? Is something wrong?" I asked him.

"You've been asking me too much, Ms. Harlington." he said bluntly with a beer bottle in his hand. "I have one question for you."

"What'll that be?" I asked with a look of suspicion on my face and a tone of suspicion in my voice.

"What _exactly_ is your job?" I cocked my head to the side and opened my mouth. Then I closed it again. I opened it once more, then I closed it. "Uhm…well…I am…uhmm…" I was stammering. I had no idea how obvious I was making myself. Well, obviously, I couldn't tell him that I'm a Task Force agent because that way, it'll startle him and he'll close the conversation. Obviously, it's obvious I'm still trying to think of what my job REALLY is.

Then I remembered plan B.

"I'm a prostitute." I said out of the blue, sending shockwaves to both his brain and to mine. I was shocked that I could actually say that I'm a prostitute.

"Oh. Really?" he said, still shell shocked from what I said.

"Yeah. Really. I also…uhmm…work…as…as….as a…" here I go again, stammering like a retard. As a matter of fact, I don't know how to lie that's why making shit up like this is hard on my part. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be.

"Yes?" he asked with his smooth yet annoyed voice.

"I work as a prostitute and as a…" I eyed the bar's employees. I saw some bouncers, strippers, waitresses…WATIRESSES!

"I also work as a waitress at Colleyville Bar…just two cities away from here. Yeah. Colleyville Bar. I work there!" he started to become suspicious. He knew I was lying but I don't think he's willing to bust me.

"Say, you're a hooker, right?" he asked.

"Yeah." I replied. "Yeah, I am."

"How's about we get it on tonight, what do you say?" I saw the evil glint in his eyes. He's planning something diabolical. But who am I to say no? If it will get me this close to solving the murders, then why not?

"Matter of fact, let's do it right now. Take me away, champ!" I said bluntly once more. He smirked and led me to his car, a black BMW. We rode to his house that night but I had only one thought in mind: To get this mission over with. I had no interest in touching him or even getting closer to him. I just want to do my job.

After a few minutes of driving, we finally reached his house. Yep. The poems were right. He did live in a dilapidated house. I also noticed the oak tree right in front of the house itself. He stepped down from his car and escorted me, even taking my hand though I refused. We got inside and the interior wasn't as pleasant as well. There were clothes and books lying on the floor and other things. The house itself was in disarray and it's just so depressing to look at. I turned my eyes to Mr. Park who began to unbutton his white polo.

"So…let's start." he took me by the waist but I pulled away, grasping the gun in my pocket.

"Uhm. Wait. I'd like to familiarize myself with your house first. I'd like to look around…first. You know. So I'd feel at home. So I wouldn't feel awkward." Mr. Park shrugged and nodded.

"As you wish. However, please do not go to the basement or to the storage room." A sly smile was painted on my face. We have our man.

"Why? Are you hiding something?" I asked suspiciously. His eyes widened and I could see beads of sweat dripping down his face and dangling on the strands of his bangs. He's nervous. He knows I'm on to him.

"No. Because the basement and the storage room are kinda messy so I wouldn't wanna go in there if I were you." I raised my eyebrows and managed a mere nod.

"If you say so. Okay. I won't go there. But just leave me alone and give me time to explore this house so I'd be able to feel homely. Alright?" He nodded. I could see him clenching his fists and rubbing them together, as well as wiping the sweat off his face. He's really guilty, I could tell. I walked around the house and I saw him walk away. I checked out everything from vases to picture frames. Nothing really odd around here. I saw some dirty, dusty, and torn albums in the glass cabinet. Looking back to see if he was still there and knowing that he's no longer there, I opened the cabinet and pulled out one album. I opened it and it turns out it wasn't an album after all! It's a diary. A huge diary.

But what was written inside?

Bunch of gibberish, that's what. Some old accounts, old poems, old shit. Everything's old. But when I saw one particular page with a picture of an old lady attached to it, that's when I became interested. I pulled out my flash light and began to read it. The script was very hard to read but somehow, with the help of my flashlight, I was able to read the text there. Part of it read:

_They have scorned you. They have hurt you. They have mocked you. They have offended you. But you__'re my mother. No one loves you more than I do. They shall pay._

What the fuck?

What's this all about? I don't understand why he wrote this. Or did he write this?

I began to think.

Yep. He wrote it alright. I recalled the poems that he wrote. The penmanship was exactly like this one. Then I diverted my attention to the picture of the old lady.

Fuck it, she's ugly.

But who is this old lady. I'm guessing she's his mother. But that's not what I came here for. I came here for the bodies and the beauty queen. I tore the page off and stuffed it in my pocket. I continued to explore the house.


	9. Strike Five, Time To Say Goodnight

Carefully, I tried looking for the basement. Since the house didn't have proper lighting, I had to rely on my flashlight for some light. While I was walking silently, trying in vain to avoid stepping on any scattered object, as well as trying in vain to see the steps of the stairs, my eyes caught sight of a small door with a paper sign hanging on it. The sign says "Do Not Enter". My answer?

The fuck I care!

I walked slowly towards the door and I whipped around swiftly just to make sure no one was watching. Then, realizing that it was open, I turned the knob and slowly crept inside. I was entering the storage room, by the way. Once I was in, I shut the door tightly and began to investigate. What I saw shocked the fuck out of me.

What did I see?

Severed heads. Plucked-out eyeballs. Chopped-off arms and legs. A human torso. A female human torso.

Think that's the worst?

I saw some bloodied and skinned female bodies hanging upside down from the ceiling. They were dripping with blood and their veins and tendons and muscles and insides were showing. They were skinned. And it looks like they were skinned alive. What's worse is that their mouths are open and their eye sockets are empty. Their eyes and tongues have been cruelly plucked out and cut off. Also, they were naked. Their private parts look as if they've been subjected to hideous and inhumane torture. I brought my Polaroid camera with me, which was in my sling bag. I pulled it out and took some pictures of the bodies. Upon developing, I placed the pictures inside my bag and continued to investigate. Quite honestly, the place was grossing me out. I could feel my vomit coming out of my mouth. If I were to look at one more anatomically-related piece of shit in that room, I'd throw up for sure.

Gladly, I busted out of the room before my puke even had the chance to slide down my mouth. I looked around and saw no one. I walked towards the other room which was the basement. I looked around to check if Mr. Park was just behind me. Gladly he wasn't. I tried knocking on the door to check if someone was inside. No reply. I knocked once more and this time, I heard someone clawing on the door. Heavy clawing accompanied by ear-piercing and heart-wrenching muffs and moans. Sounds as if the person inside's mouth has been taped. The door's locked. I couldn't get in. If I bust the door down, Mr. Park would hear me and therefore, he'd come after me. So I decided to roam around the house once more. But before leaving, I whispered to the person inside the door.

"_Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll be back in no time."_

I hurriedly climbed up the stairs and upon my ascend, I saw this room in the corner. I haven't seen it before so curiosity got the best of me. I entered the room and to my utter horror and surprise, it's a room filled with mirrors. Now what would Mr. Park do with a room full of mirrors?

"Surprise! Did you miss me?" said a voice from overhead. The lights went on but I didn't see anyone. I just saw my own reflection.

"Park, I know you're in there." I called out to him. He just laughed.

"Call me Leeteuk, my dear." I pulled out my gun and loaded it.

"Yeah right. Wherever you are come out now. We've got some shit to talk about!"

"You haven't been exploring, have you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did more than that, Leeteuk. I know your dirty little secret and guess what, bastard? It's high time that that little secret of yours gets revealed.

"Hahaha! You're a stubborn one, aren't you? Well, you know what I do to stubborn girls like you."

"Gimme your best shot!"

I heard his irritating high pitched laugh once more.

"Well, in case you have forgotten, you're in a room filled with two way mirrors. Meaning, I can see you but you can't see me. Since you can't shoot me, it's gonna be a dangerous game of chance for you, Ms. Harlington. But as for me, since I can see you, it'll be easy for me to kill you. And you will end up like the other girls who fucked around with me!"

"Why do you do this? What's wrong with you?" I asked, not letting go of my gun. My grip on the trigger is even tighter now.

"Because my mother told me that these women are whores! Harlots! Prostitutes! Also, they're beautiful. I remember back then when they would make fun of my mother. Not them but the beautiful people. Beautiful women, namely. They would make fun of her. And in revenge, I do this."

"You kill innocent women! Just so that you could avenge your mother's death!"

"Exactly! Wow, you're a quick learner. I must admit for a prostitute you're rather smart!"

"First of all, I'm not a prostitute. I'm a Task Force agent. I just pretended to be a prostitute so that I'd be able to investigate your house and you and hopefully save Mariposa Cooper. Also, I'm trying to avenge someone's death myself."

"Woah! We've got an authority here. Do you happen to know the guy I killed last time?"

"Oh yeah. And his death's the reason why you're death's coming up!"

"Hahaha! Try and detect me first. Try and find me. Try, try, try. "

Now this is the real test. I have no knowledge on detecting whether someone's behind the mirror or not. This is when I thought, whatever will be will be. If I die right now, I guess it won't matter. I'm the youngest girl in the roster. The youngest piece of shit in the Task Force.

I just circled and circled the place, I could hear Leeteuk's laughs but I ignored them. I clutched my gun tightly and tried to stay alert despite my waning self esteem and self confidence. I just couldn't do it.

However, I felt something creeping behind me. The lights went out again. I've never felt so hopeless in my life. For the first time, I'm gonna fail a mission. So I was walking around the dark room with my gun tightly clutched in my hand. I could seriously feel someone following me. I backed up against the mirror and rested, not putting my gun down. Just then, I could hear and feel someone breathing down my neck. I felt something sharp on my back, too.

"Surprise!" It was Leeteuk. And after that, I just felt excruciating pain on my side. He stabbed me! But it wasn't enough to take me down. Now that I know he's by my side, I-despite the painful stab wound-raised my gun with all my strength and shot him pointblank in the head. That, I guess was enough to kill him. I pulled the small knife from my side and ran limply out of the room with my gun in hand. Since my dress was white, I could only imagine the damage the blood has done to my dress but no matter, I thought. I ran back to the basement despite tripping and falling on my knees several times. Once I got there, I kicked the door open and saw Mariposa all messed up with a huge strip of masking tape on her mouth. I peeled the masking tape off and carried the girl out of the house. Once we got outside, I phoned the Task Force to pick us up.

"Yello!" Clyde answered with his signature expression.

"Yeah. Clyde, it's Florence. I killed the guy and I got the girl. I also have loads of pictures to show you guys. Wait till I get there!"

"Girl you make me proud! Don't be in a rush, though. We're sending in some cars to pick you up. Where are you again?"

"Hahaha. The dilapidated house near the oak. Forrest corner Juniper street. That's where I am."

"Alrightey! A car's on its way!" I smiled and hung up. Mariposa was sitting on the sidewalk looking at me.

"Am I gonna be okay?" she asked.

"You'll be just fine." I couldn't help but notice how damaged her fingernails were. They just came off the finger itself. Maybe it's due to scratching.

A few minutes later, the car arrived and we both got in.

Mariposa fell asleep. As for me, I prefer to stay awake. I continued to nurse my stab wound and to look outside the window. I shall forever remember this day as the day the horror ended. Maybe the youngest girl in the roster has a purpose after all.

Days later, Mariposa was reunited with her family and friends. She has never been happier.

The house was further investigated and the gruesome shit that was in it were confiscated and taken into custody for further analysis and investigation.

Me? I was promoted. I became the Commander in the Task Force. I'm Fletcher's boss now.


End file.
